


In Different Skin

by deepriverwoman



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Timelines, Brain Eating, Cannibalism, Gen, Hannibal is a Cannibal, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Symbiote - Freeform, Why Did I Write This?, chilton is kind of a crappy psychiatrist, did i mention cannibal buns, hannigram subtext duh, idk - Freeform, symbiote au, there's other stuff, tight cannibal buns, what's the point of this?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-24
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 12:07:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3410006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deepriverwoman/pseuds/deepriverwoman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shortly after the death of a research scientist in Baltimore Maryland, the team at BAU discover that part of an alien symbiote is still living inside the scientists body. When the thing gets loose(of course it does), some unexpected(not) events happen. Namely, one Doctor Hannibal Lecter is about to undergo a make-over(He gets taken over by the alien symbiote. Of course).</p><p>Any fans of Spiderman, ya'll know what I'm talkin about!</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Different Skin

**Author's Note:**

> Set during the time of the first season, sometime after the episodes "Sorbet", and "Fromage". I have done artwork going with this story, but I did the artwork way before I even got the idea to write an accompanying fic. It is posted below, serves as a cover. ^^  
>  

 Fredrick Chilton scraped the end of his pen against his tooth, sat cross-legged in a plastic chair seated across from a man's cell. He had had several cups of coffee; still he was tired. And bored. Bored to tears. This man in the cell in front of him gave him nothing but drivel for hours now. He sorely longed for Will Graham to be seated in that cell that moment. If only, to have an opportunity to pick the brain of a man who was infinitely more interesting. 

Instead, he was stuck with the usual: some loony who refers to themselves as "we" and "us" on occasion, and then claims he has been possessed. Possession. Really? 

"So you are saying the reason you killed your father and ate his brain, is because you were possessed by the devil?" Chilton deadpanned. 

The man in the cage looked ill, with purple rings under his eyes, cheeks sunken in under his protruding cheekbones. "Not the devil," he said, exasperatedly. "You're not listening to me. I was possessed by something else. Something real. It made me- angry, like it was feeding on my anger or something. It made me feel powerful, and I _was._ "

Chilton didn't even make an effort to form words from syllables, resting his cheek against the palm of his hand, almost like a pillow, because at this point, he needed one. "Umhm." He had stopped making notes sometime before, instead clicking away at the end of his pen with his free hand. "And tell me, is this why you killed those ten other people as well? And ate their brains? Because the de- the, _something_ commanded you to do so?"

The man rubbed his forehead. "Yes. Well yes and no. It's not like I heard voices. I didn't hear anything tell me to do something. I just felt this need to do it. It was overwhelming."

 "You felt the need to eat brains."

"Yes. I felt like if I didn't eat a brain, I would lose my mind or something," the man's voice cracked. 

Now maybe things could get interesting. Chilton leaned in. "You ate the brains of your victims to keep your own mind strong?"

"Yeah. I guess so. It's how I felt. I mean and I was angry like I said. I felt like I wanted to punish people."

"The ones that hurt you?"

"Yeah."

It made sense. "That's why you killed your wife as well? Because you felt abandoned. She had betrayed you."

At that point the man buried his face in his hands, whimpering into them. "Y-yes. Oh god, Jill, I'm sorry."

Funny, Chilton thought. He doesn't say that about his father. 

 

~*~

 

"His skull is completely clean," Beverly Katz marveled. "Like his brain was just scooped out whole. No blood, no 'pulp' nothing. Interior of the skull is dry too." The man on the slab at the Behavioral Science Unit was a scientist himself. More like a research scientist, who was recently investigating an organism he called a 'black tar parasite' that he had been recording about in his journal several weeks before his death. Beverly poked and prodded at the inside of the man's skull, which had been cleanly sawed in half and, as referred to by Jimmy Price,  reminiscent of a ripe pumpkin; being on the subject of scooping out innards and no pulp. 

"Raymond Clark," Jimmy read the file, "son of Quentin Clark. His colleagues said he'd been investigating ways to treat his son's cancer shortly before he died."

"That's what he was using this black tar substance for?", asked  Jack Crawford, leaning in to look at the file, frowning. 

Will Graham leaned against the wall in the far corner, his arms crossed like a cage against his chest, not caring to be close to the brainless corpse on the slab. "Could be," he said quietly. "He got desperate. He saw a cure for his son's cancer in the black substance."

"Which we still haven't found yet," Jack interjected. His voice was stern, though Will imagined that probably wasn't directed at him or anyone else in that room as much as it was a situation at home and from tiredness. 

Will had caught this killer, Quentin, who was now sitting in the Baltimore State Hospital For The Criminally Insane. The latest in a string of his many so-called successes. "I wasn't able to properly see it before," he continued, "his motivations, or his methods. It was as if something was blocking me from understanding what happened. Last night, when I found Quentin, that went away."

Jack blinked, as though he was trying to wet tired, dry eyes. "Yes, and? What do you mean by that?"

"What I mean is, when I was finally able to reconstruct what happened, it was as if something fell away from-from the killer." Will noted Jack's impatient expression and he didn't need to look to see the rest of the science team eyeing him, no doubt wondering what the hell he was going on about. " _Meaning_ , that Clark's theories about this substance bonding to a living organism like a... suit, have to be true. He made journal entries about it right? Whatever was keeping me from  reconstructing his Quentin's thinking is the same thing Clark used to save his him. Last night, it- it must have detached itself," Will sighed. "It exists. It's out there somewhere to find."

Jack stared at Will, his eyes like razors ready to lash. "You're saying there's a living black tar out there at large?" Brian Zeller, who was inches away from Katz taking samples from the man's shoes, grinned and huffed. Will would have to walk past Zeller and ignore him; soon enough, he'd no longer be laughing.

The scientist had made several references in his taped journals about the substance being "alive" and "perhaps having some form of sentience" which helped him to conclude that it was a species of parasite. He had been studying this find for seven months. 

"Yes," Will said. "That's what I'm saying. I don't think this man was crazy, just desperate. He wanted his son to be well again, so he used something on him that maybe he shouldn't have. This discovery he made, is what Quentin was talking about when he said he was possessed. And I know there was something there, it was like a veil was covering my eyes." 

Of course Jack would have to relent. His stare dropped from Will, and he dissolved into a heavy sigh, rubbing his eyes with a large hand. Of all the people in this room, Will was 'a little different', yet you can bet he knew what he was talking about. Jack nodded. "So we need to find whatever is..lurking out there. Before it does something to someone else."

Will now allowed himself to glance at Zeller, who's expression was a blank stare and a few attempted words. "That's like looking for a needle in a haystack," Zeller began. 'If this stuff actually exists and it's out there--"

 _"Um..."_ Beverly's voice came in. "We might not have to look that far."

The flesh of the scientist's lung had moved as if there was a worm inside. When punctured, shiny, inky black substance fell against red blood. It  gooped, and ran slowly along the surface of the lung, like molasses. "How the hell did it get inside his lung?" Zeller said, face twisted in disgust. Beverly stared. "It looked for a minute like it was alive," she said "I swear to God, it moved."

"It _moved?_ " Jack repeated. 

"S-swallowed it somehow," Will whispered. "Or, the thing felt threatened and burrowed part of itself inside his body.." he ignored side glances. 

Price was ready before anyone knew, with gloves and plastic vile in hand. "We've got to capture it!" The black tar formed itself to sit up slightly, and then, all that anyone saw was Price being pushed backward onto the floor with a thud, the vile dropping out of his hands. The substance became a dark blur that darted out of the room before anyone had a chance to even start running after it. 

Zeller panicked. "Shit!"

Overnight, Jack had every officer he could sweep the building for it, but found nothing.  If no one was sure of the father and son's credibility as far as the claims of possession and scientific breakthroughs, Will thought, they were now. 

* * *

 

 **"TAR AT LARGE?!** " read Freddy Lound's TattleCrime headline the next day.  Maybe not _complete_ credibility, but anything's a start.  

Will shut the lid of his laptop down with a snap, the sound of it mirroring his own irritation.  "Sorry boy," he said to one of his dogs, Winston, who's head darted up at the sound. 

 At seven twenty that night, Will drove his car down the snowy road, about a few minutes away from Baltimore, and Hannibal Lecter's office.  He had thought about calling to say he couldn't make it; the weather was fine so far, but it might pick up later. No really, maybe the weather would have been an excuse. Will found some semblance of comfort in his visits with Hannibal, but drumming up the darkness he constantly lived in every day and night, could get hard to do even in the atmosphere of comfort that the Doctor provided him.  Notwithstanding the fact that somewhere in the back of his mind Will didn't want to disappoint the man who had driven forty-five minutes overnight to his location to tell him he had missed an appointment, there was also the feeling that he needed this. He needed to keep going. Visits with Hannibal Lecter were the thing that kept Will afloat these past few months; as much as it could anyway, for a man like himself.

Pulling into the parking lot, Will heard a creak from the roof of his car. Couldn't be the hooves of an imaginary stag trampling on top of it; no, it felt lighter. Something was definitely there. Maybe a squirrel. Maybe it fell from a tree and wounded itself on the hood of Will's car? 

 _Don't look for it,_ Will reprimanded himself for what was no doubt another symptom of a fevered brain.   _Talk to Hannibal. Try to get better._

He didn't see what had slid from the roof of his car and began it's sinuous trail behind him, following him into the welcoming light of the building. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Oh good lord it;s hard to write these people. I hope it is liked so far, and that it was at least coherent XD Short chapter but more or less settin things up. Comments would be appreciate. Warnings and tags and stuff might change as this goes on. 
> 
> THANK


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